


Saligiare

by Misanagi



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-02
Updated: 2010-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 14:50:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misanagi/pseuds/Misanagi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>About decisions, right and wrong, and the path they build.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saligiare

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/stagesoflove/profile)[**stagesoflove**](http://community.livejournal.com/stagesoflove/): Seven Deadly Sins.
> 
> Thanks a lot to Anne for the beta.

**_Superbia_**

"So this is where you came to hide." I put my drink on the piano and lean over it, looking at him.

His fingers never falter, he keeps playing as if nothing happened, but his eyes – they are as open as they've always been – and he's startled. He gives me a smile that isn't completely sincere. "I never hid from you, Trowa."

I shrug and take off my jacket, putting it on a chair nearby. The bar is warm and full of smoke, the band – or what's left of it since only Quatre and the drummer remain – is playing a soft tune as it's late and only a few clients remain. "You hid from everyone." Three months ago Quatre resigned from WEI and all but vanished… to this place, a small bar in New York City.

"Heero found me that same week. Duo came to visit the following one. Wufei sent a postcard that month and Rashid contacted me to know if I was okay." His fingers start moving faster. The drummer shoots Quatre a look but increases the tempo anyway. "I was pretty easy to find, if you've wanted to."

That hurts. I down the rest of my drink in one gulp and Quatre returns his eyes to the piano. I know he doesn't need to look at the keys. "You left. I assumed you didn't want to be found."

He looks up again, his chin up. "You said you needed time."

I wish my cup wasn't empty. "Is that why you left?"

Shaking his head, he lets out a snort. "You are very important to me, Trowa, but you are not the reason for everything I do." His voice is smug. "I left because I needed to leave, not because you rejected me."

"I asked for time, Quatre. There's a difference."

Quatre nods and lowers his eyes again. "Did you have enough?"

"More than enough."

The melody slows down again, the drummer easily adapting to Quatre's moods. "Then why didn't you come before?"

"I thought you left me." But, that is only half true.

Duo said it was pride. Quatre didn't go back to his life and company like I wanted him to. He didn't take his place in society like I thought he should. No, he defied all that he was supposed to be and lost himself in the crowded streets of New York, where he wouldn't have to play the heir. I knew then that I didn't need time, but still I didn't go to him. Pride, Duo said. Too proud to admit that I made a mistake, that I misjudged him or that I was afraid to say yes.

Quatre laughs, but it is a sorrowful sound. "I was too proud to stay and beg you for affection."

I swallow, hard, and say, "I'm not."

 

**_Avaritia_**

We walk to his apartment after the bar closes. The night is cold and even though it isn't raining, the streets are wet. Quatre doesn't look at the floor, he keeps his eyes trained ahead, stepping into puddles, seemingly unconcerned about dampening his trousers.

"I don't want you to beg," he says, stopping in front of a building. He walks up the short flight of stairs and I follow.

The door is old and Quatre has to hit it a couple of times to open. He closes it behind us and starts climbing the stairs. There's no elevator but the lights turn on automatically as we climb. We stop on the last floor, the sixth, and Quatre opens another door. "Home," he says, and steps away to let me in.

The apartment is small and messy. There are different pictures taped to the wall; I see myself in a few of them. He leads me to the couch and then goes to the kitchen. Minutes later he emerges with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. I nod in approval.

After I drink the first sip, I feel ready to talk. "What do you want?"

Quatre takes off his shoes and sits cross-legged on the couch. "I told you four months ago." He leans back on the arm of the chair and looks me in the eyes. "I want you."

I can't hold that look, and drop my eyes, taking another sip to hide my actions. "You've always had me." I want to look at him but I can't.

"Then why, Trowa?" I've never heard him sound so confused. When he left that day, after I said no, he left silently. He puts his hand on top of mine and I look up. He's begging me with his eyes for an answer.

"Because I wanted you, all of you, and I knew I couldn't have it."

Greed, Catherine said. I wanted it all and ended up with nothing.

His hand squishes mine. "Why did you think that?"

I snort. "You are Quatre Raberba Winner. You belong to everyone, don't you see?" I want to pull my hand away but he doesn't let me. "The company, your sisters, Preventers, the Maguanacs… the others."

"You think I don't want all of you too? Even though I know you are not mine to keep? The others need you as well. So does Catherine and the people at the circus." He leans closer to me. "Do you still think I always had you?"

I can smell the alcohol in his breath. "Yes," I say. It doesn't mind how many other people there are. He still has me.

"And can you believe," he moves an inch closer, "that even though you are not the reason for everything, you can still have me. All of me?"

I want to say yes, but I can't lie to him. Not again. Not now. "I don't know."

"Then let me show you." He closes the distance between us and kisses me.

 

**_Lujuria_**

I can't not kiss him back.

If he had attempted to kiss me four months ago he would have seen that when I said no, it was a lie. But he didn't and I let him walk away. Not this time. A kiss can't be avoided or ignored like words. Not his kiss.

I put my arms around him, part my lips and taste him. The whiskey is there but there's also something that is only Quatre. My hands slid under his shirt and I run them up and down his back. He smiles into the kiss.

My hands stop moving and with my lips still pressed to him, I ask, "what?"

"You, touching me." He kisses the side of my lip. "I've dreamed of this."

I've dreamed of him too. Lust. Wanting him, desiring him. "Have you ever done this before?" I don't want to know but I need to ask.

"No. Not with another man."

I move back a little, my arms trembling because my body knows what it wants and I'm pulling it away from it, from him.

"I want this," Quatre says before I can convince myself this isn't right.

I want it too. Crave it, have fantasized about it, touched myself thinking of him. Touched others with him in mind.

Quatre starts stripping. First, his socks, and then his shirt. He unzips his trousers and pulls them down, and I remain quiet even though I know I should stop him. He stands up from the couch and takes off his boxers. Standing nude in front of me, he asks, "Do _you_ want this, Trowa?"

My body answers for me, my hands pulling him close so I can kiss his stomach, smell him, hold him. He lets me. Puts his arms around my neck and whispers encouragements, tells me how much he wants me, wants this, how long he has thought about this, how happy he is.

I stand up at some point and kiss his mouth again. He strips me, quickly, almost desperately, and touches me and holds me. I don't know where he got the lube from and I don't ask. He covers our hands in it and guides my fingers inside him. I prep him while he spreads lube on my cock, stroking me.

He pulls me to the couch. Me on top of him, his legs bend at the knees and spread open. "I want you, Trowa," he repeats, and this time I tell him I want him too.

I slide inside him slowly, my gaze firmly locked on his face. His eyes are closed until I'm all the way in and I can see him grimace slightly. He's in pain. I stop. He opens his eyes and looks at me, urging me to continue. I see him, and I see myself reflected in him. I know then…

It isn't lust. It's love.

 

**_Invidia_**

We lie on the couch naked afterwards. I'm resting my head on Quatre's shoulder, looking at the ceiling and listening to his heart beat while his fingers curl around my waist. We are still sweaty. Quatre went to the bathroom to clean himself but when he came out he still smelt of me, and I liked it.

I'm sure I smell of him, too.

"I'm glad you came," he says.

"If I hadn't, Catherine would have kicked me out." I try to tilt my head backwards, to see his face, but all I can see is his chin.

"Why?" There's an edge to his voice.

"She got engaged." I pause for two beats. "I wasn't handling it well."

His fingers stop moving and are just resting on my belly. "What do you mean?"

"I hit the guy," I mumble. Catherine gave me hell for it too.

Quatre laughs, his chest vibrating softly beneath me. "He wasn't good enough for her?"

I want to say no, but he was good enough. He made her happy. The truth is that I didn't like to see them together. Seeing them close to each other, talking, laughing… I just couldn't handle it.

Envy, Wufei said. I couldn't be happy for them because they had what I wanted, what I needed.

"Oh." Apparently Quatre doesn't need an answer to understand. "I see couples at the bar, holding hands, kissing. Del, the drummer, he says my playing gets melancholic when I see them." I look up and watch his neck move as he swallows. "I don't know how my playing can be melancholic."

It is possible. I've heard him play enough to know. "I'm sorry," I say.

"I didn't say it to get an apology or make you feel bad, Trowa." His arms wrap around my chest. "I just want you to know that I understand."

He always does. "I understand too. That's why I'm sorry."

He remains quiet for a long time. I wait, listening to his heart, feeling his arms around me.

"Do you?" His voice is so soft it's barely a whisper. "I don't know if I can take it, if you leave after this." His fingers press on top of my lips before I can answer. "Think about it tonight, and tell me in the morning."

I turn around and watch him. He holds my gaze and I can see the fear and hope mixed in it. Standing, I hold my hand out to him. "Let's go to bed."

He takes it and lets me guide him into the bedroom.

 

**_Gula_**

I wake to the smell of breakfast. The curtains are closed but a few rays of light sneak in through the corners. Quatre isn't in bed, but his smell lingers on the pillows and sheets. I close my eyes again and bury my face on his pillow. Just a couple of minutes more.

Again I wake, to the smell of coffee this time, and that's powerful enough to make me rub my eyes and slowly sit up. I throw the covers away and stand up. With my eyes half closed, I follow the smell into the living room. It's bright here. I blink a couple of times, open my eyes and see Quatre, standing in front of me, wearing nothing but boxers, smiling.

"Your clothes are there," he points to the floor. "In case you are cold." His smile brightens. "Breakfast is ready."

I watch him sit on the counter before I find my boxers and put them on. "You didn't have to cook."

I sit beside him and he puts a plate of eggs and toast, and a coffee cup, in front of me. "I know."

We eat silently and I wake up slowly with each bite. Quatre takes the plates to the kitchen and when he returns he doesn't sit next to me but stands by the window, looking outside. "You can tell me now."

I stand up and walk behind him. I put my arms around him and rest my chin on his shoulder. It's raining outside, a soft rain. The few people on the street rush around, umbrella in hand. "Do you like it here?"

"Yes." He pauses. "Tell me."

I kiss his neck. "I want you." I kiss his shoulder. "You." Trace my fingers over his belly, trace the scar Dorothy left. "Your body." I bury my nose on his hair. "Your scent." I bite his ear softly. "Your taste." My hands roam up his chest. "Your heart." I tighten my hold around him. "All of you."

I hold my breath, waiting. I know I'm asking too much, more than I need, more than I require, but I want it all – I don't care if others want some too – I desire it. Heero once called it gluttony, craving more than one needs. I am moderated in every aspect of my life, everything but this. I need him, and now that I can admit it, I'm not letting go.

Quatre turns around and kisses me. "You have me," he says. "What I need to know is if I can have you." He looks afraid, as if he's not sure he wants to know the answer.

"You do."

His look doesn't change. "What about the circus, and Catherine? Last time you told me you didn't want to be only Quatre Winner's boyfriend." He diverts his eyes for a moment before focusing them back on me. "What about you? I can't have you if you get lost in me."

I sigh and take a step back. "What are you asking, Quatre? I don't understand."

He lowers his head. "Exactly."

 

**_Ira_**

Quatre has two jobs. He teaches in a local music school in the afternoon and then plays in the bar at night. I watch him teach a little girl how to play the violin. She's just starting and the sound the instrument makes is no better than the cries of a wet cat, but he's patient, correcting her posture and the position of her fingers before he tells her to try again.

We didn't talk about us again after this morning. He talked about his students, the band, New York, but didn't ask me any more questions. I let him because I still don't know what he wants me to say.

The girl's violin screeches again. I watch Quatre demonstrate, his fingers flowing naturally over the strings. I don't understand. What does he want? What am I doing wrong, and why won't he show me?

I'm quiet when we leave the school and silent while we eat a simple meal in a diner. We are walking to the bar when he stops, in the middle of the sidewalk. "You are angry." He leans on the wall of a gray building and crosses his arms over his chest, waiting for me to say something.

"I don't understand you!" My voice isn't loud but it's not as controlled as usual. "I came here for you. I made a mistake before but I'm here now, I'm ready to work things out but you… I don't understand what you want from me."

"I told you I want you."

"Would you stop being so cryptic!?" This time my voice is loud. "You say you want me, and here I am, giving myself to you, then why won't you take me?"

He doesn't say anything so I continue. "Is this pay back? Are you angry because I turned you down then, and giving me a taste of what I did?"

He pushes away from the wall. "You hurt me, Trowa. I won't lie; I did think of making you feel what I felt, but instead, I left." He walks closer to me. "You were the thing holding my life together then, and when you said no, I understood that it couldn't be all about you." His lips curl slightly. "I had to find myself." He looks around and the smile grows. "I did. And now I can really give myself to you." The rain starts falling and a drop lands on his cheek, looking like a tear. "What I've been asking you, Trowa, is if you can do the same. I love you but I don't want you to become an extension of me. I don't want to change you."

The rain is falling faster, my hair is getting wet but I can't move. "You love me," I whisper.

He smiles. "Of course I do."

I grab his hand. "Come on. You are going to be late." And start running.

 

_**Acedia**_

I sit at the bar and watch them play. The band is a trio: Del, Quatre and a base player. Quatre's hair is still wet and now and then a drop of water falls on his face. His hands are busy so he rubs his cheek on his shoulder, and keeps playing as if nothing happened.

I order another drink; vodka on the rocks. I sip it slowly, watching Quatre, and listening to the music. When I left the circus, Catherine said she would send me and Quatre an invitation. I never said I was leaving but she knew. She knew I was going to Quatre and that when I found him, I would stay.

But, he doesn't want me to. He doesn't want me to give up my life for him, and I can't ask him to come with me, not when he's clearly so comfortable, when he has finally found himself.

"You know what you have to do." A black man, looking about sixty, refills my drink. I frown. He isn't the bartender. "And you don't seem the kind to be afraid. So why don't you?"

"Who are you?"

He extends his hand. "My name is George and I own this joint." I take it and he gestures towards Quatre with his head. "He's a good kid. I can tell he's been waiting for someone." He gives me a look. "Is that you?"

I nod and take a sip of my vodka.

"If you are here, then why is he still waiting?" He shakes his head slowly. "It ain't good to be lazy, boy, especially lazy to do something for love. My mama, God rest her soul, used to say sloth is the mother of all vices."

I look back at Quatre. His gaze settles on me for a moment and he smiles. "Is this the whole band?" I ask.

"It is now." He gestures at his throat. "Too much smoking. I don't have the pipes anymore." He bends over and then places a gold saxophone on the counter. "I keep it here 'cause maybe one day there'll be a young man willing to play it."

My fingers trail over the cool metal, testing the keys.

"Can you play, boy?"

I nod once.

"Are you any good?"

I nod again.

"Then what are you waiting for? You don't seem like the lazy type. Go and do something, boy. Ain't you tired of watching?"

I take the sax and walk to the side of the stage. Quatre is watching me. I bring the instrument slowly to my lips and Quatre starts playing softer. He's waiting.

It is easy to play with him. It always has been. I give him one look before I close my eyes; let the music speak for me, give him the answer that he's waiting for. I tell him everything I can't say and I know he understands.

He replies, the piano blending smoothly with the sax, a tune where each instrument makes a distinct sound, plays a different melody, but merges perfectly together.

I open my eyes and see him looking at me. He has his answer, and it's the right one.


End file.
